The Blood Gardener (The Dark River Book 2)

by Michael Richan

  Can we go there? A asked.

  No, Derick replied. We have no reason to. There’s plenty of light in Portsmouth, trust me.

  Does Portsmouth have a cloud?

  No, Derick replied. Atina’s the only place in all of the Dark River that has a cloud, as far as I know.

  Why?

  That’s a good question, Derick answered. I don’t know the answer. I’m sure someone does.

  Not you?

  No, not me, Derick replied. We’ve got to keep moving, kiddo. Come on.

  Derick physically grabbed A by the shoulders to break his gaze of Atina, and pushed the child along in front of him.

  A laughed at Derick’s touch. OK, OK. I’m going!

  Then he deliberately stopped, Derick running into him.

  Derick reached down to grab A by the sides, and A began to laugh. Derick lifted him onto his shoulders and kept walking. He’s heavier than he used to be, Derick thought to himself. I won’t be able to do this for long.

  A continued to laugh as Derick ferried him along, the lights of Atina slowly fading in the distance.

  - - -

  The most brightly lit section of Portsmouth was the square near the entrance to the portal. Derick avoided it even though A was interested in its luminosity. He knew A was aware of rushing, but he didn’t want to get wrapped up watching the many dozens of people who would be writhing on the ground, repetitively orgasming over and over, their minds temporarily lost, and the others seated in the surrounding stands, getting off on watching the rushers. Portsmouth was notorious for this spectacle, and it reminded him of the worst tourist towns in the real world during spring break.

  Even worse, he thought. At least in the real world they’re not having sex in the streets, in front of everyone.

  Well, most of the time.

  Instead, they moved deeper into the town, away from the bright lights, and Portsmouth began to feel like Pana or Corbin; small and dark.

  He found his way to the street address for Portsmouth Supply, a small, poorly-lit storefront in an area with no commerce. A wholesale operation, Derick thought.

  I worry about you wandering while I talk with people, he said to A.

  Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.

  Don’t do anything that will bring us unwanted attention, Derick said. We’re only here to get some axto and get out of town. I don’t want a scene.

  I won’t, A insisted as they walked into the building.

  There were three desks just inside the door, and a man working at each desk, shuffling papers.

  “This isn’t a retail establishment,” one of the men said, without looking up. “We don’t do walk-ins.”

  “I’m looking for Herb,” Derick said. “I was referred by Red, in Pana.”

  The man at the desk closest to him looked up. “I’m Herb. What do you want?”

  “Axto. I’d like to buy some.”

  “Don’t carry it anymore,” Herb replied. “Sorry.”

  “Maybe you could tell me how to get some? Some other supplier?”

  “Do I look like I’m in the business of referring people to my competitors?”

  “If you’re in the business of happy customers, you might consider it,” Derick replied. One of the men in the back rose from his desk and walked out a side door. Derick was worried the man might be grabbing a weapon, like a nervespike.

  “You’re not my customer, mate,” Herb said.

  “No, but Red in Pana is.”

  “And Red will continue to be my customer,” Herb replied, “because I carry things he needs.”

  Derick was irritated at the man’s attitude. “I’ll make sure Red knows how helpful you were to one of his customers, who are, by the way, the people who eventually wind up buying your products.”

  “And I’ll remind Red of our arrangement where he has no business sending retail customers directly to me,” Herb replied as he took a couple of steps toward Derick, his face beginning to turn red.

  Derick felt A tugging at his hand, and he turned to look down at him. A motioned with his head toward the door, that they should leave.

  He wanted to stay and argue with the man, but he knew it probably wouldn’t result in much aside from his own satisfaction at speaking his mind. He turned and followed A, who led him to the door.

  “Thanks for nothing,” he shot back over his shoulder.

  Once outside, A released his hand. Come on, A said, leading him farther down the street.

  Where are we going? Derick asked.

  Didn’t you see the man? A replied. We need to meet him.

  Man? Meet him? What are you talking about?

  The man in the back, A said. He was trying to get your attention. Kept motioning to the back. Then he got up and left.

  I guess I was too wrapped up in arguing with Herb, Derick replied.

  Come on, A said anxiously. I’ll bet he’s waiting for us.

  They circled around the building, and, as A had predicted, the man who’d left the room was standing there, waiting for them.

  “Let’s go down around that corner,” the man said, pointing at a spot a block away.

  Derick became concerned they might be walking into some kind of trap, and it showed on his face as skepticism.

  “No tricks,” the man said. “For a small fee I’ll tell you where you can get axto. But not here, not where Herb might come out any second.”

  “Alright,” Derick replied, and let the man lead them toward the corner he’d pointed at. Derick was on high alert, his senses tuned to maximum, half anticipating a group of LeFever Raidarchists just around the corner. Instead he found a quiet alleyway.

  “A small fee?” Derick said, once they stopped.

  “Let’s say a hundred,” the man replied.

  “No, too much,” Derick answered.

  “The monochild then.”

  Derick gritted his teeth. “He’s not for sale.”

  “Alright, alright. Calm down.”

  “I can bring you something from the real world, if you want. Something small.”

  “You can?”

  “Yes.”

  “Alright. Can you bring in anything?”

  “Most anything,” Derick said. “What do you want?”

  “I don’t know just yet,” the man said, rubbing his hands together, his eyes darting as he thought. “I can’t think of something just this moment, but yes, I will trade my information for that.”

  “I’ll come back in two weeks and find out what you want,” Derick said. “You better know by then, or the deal’s done and I don’t owe you anything.”

  “Yes, yes, that’ll work,” he said, smiling. “Alright. Axto. We don’t carry it anymore.”

  “So Herb said,” Derick replied coolly.

  “The reason we don’t carry it anymore is not because there’s no demand. We do get an occasional request. The real reason is it’s too dangerous to collect. That’s why so many people are moving over to rushsperm.”

  “I’m not interested in rushsperm,” Derick said, repelled at the thought. “I need axto.”

  “Alright. I can tell you how to collect it, if you want to try.”

  “How about you go collect it for us? I am paying you, after all.”

  “I won’t go collect it, not for a hundred things brought in. Sorry. No can do.”

  “What’s so dangerous about it?”

  “The neurotoxin in the scorpionflies, that’s what,” the man replied. “Makes you lose your mind, go crazy. You don’t die, but what’s the point of living if you’re an insane lunatic?”

  “You’re not really living anyway,” Derick said. “I assume your body is dead and buried somewhere back in the real world.”

  The man shook his head. “That’s not the point. I’m here talking to you, right now. We’re having a conversation. If you get stung by one of the scorpionflies, no conversation. It’s straight off to Bellevue until you deteriorate enough that Soul Grinders will buy what’s left of you. No, no thank you. I’
ll tell you how to collect it, if you want, but I’m not going to do it myself. Herb lost two guys when the scorpionflies grew bigger. I’m not going to take the risk.”

  “Bigger? How big are they?”

  The man formed his hands into the size of a baseball.

  “Fuck, that is big,” Derick said. “I was thinking flies, like, you know, the kind that give you worms.”

  “No, these scorpionflies are honkers, and they got a nasty stinger on their tail with a long, sharp point. Can stick right through clothing. You can’t let them land on you.”

  “OK, so tell me how this works. How do you harvest axto?”

  “From the scorpionflies themselves,” the man said. “There’s a little gland under the stinger, a pouch filled with liquid. You snip it off, and squeeze out the liquid.”

  “How much is in one of these glands?” Derick asked. “I need a half pint.”

  The man was doing quick math in his head. “Probably a dozen to get that much. They’ll try to sting you while you do it, so wear very thick gloves, and it helps if the gloves have some kind of metal mesh.”

  “Where do I find the flies?” Derick asked.

  “In the statue fields outside of Letra,” the man said. “The flies are attracted to the stone statues. You can catch them when they’re feeding on one. Don’t try to catch them when they’re flying. Won’t work.”

  “What attracts them to the statues?”

  “You don’t know about the statue field? All the people out there?”

  “No, never heard of it.”

  The man stopped and took a breath. “Every now and again some of the rushers at the square can’t stop rushing, and they basically orgasm to death, right there in front of all the spectators. The body usually fades quickly, but not always. Maybe one in a thousand bodies doesn’t fade at all; it turns to stone, like those plaster casts of the people killed at Pompeii. They cart the stone out to the fields beyond Letra and dump them. The whole place is filled with these frozen people. It’s really eerie. The scorpionflies like to suck what juice remains inside them, and digest it into axto, which is what’s inside that gland. They further refine the axto into the neurotoxin for their stingers.”

  “Anything else we can use to protect ourselves from the scorpionflies?”

  “If you cover yourself in Eater excrement, they won’t land on you. They’ll still try to sting you when you cut off the gland, though.”

  “Great,” Derick moaned sarcastically. “Smearing myself with Eater shit doesn’t sound appealing.”

  “Another of the reasons we don’t harvest it anymore,” the man replied. “There’s plenty of Eaters just off the path between here and Letra, so that’s easy enough to find.”

  “I need a container to hold the axto,” Derick said. “Something to snip the glands with. Reinforced gloves, too. Can you help me out with those?”

  “We have all that back at the warehouse,” the man said. “But there’s a bit of a risk for me, stealing from the boss and bringing it to you.”

  “Two items from the real world,” Derick offered.

  The man thought about the offer, then nodded. “Done. Wait here.” He turned and left the alley, leaving Derick and A alone.

  We’re going bug hunting, Derick said to A.

  It sounds scary, A replied. I don’t want to get stung. I don’t want to go crazy.

  What’s scary is rubbing Eater dung all over ourselves, Derick replied, as they waited for the man to return with their tools.

  - - -

  Faint light from distant firestorms reflected in A’s pupils and the white rings around his eyes. The rest of him was smeared dark with excrement. Derick was grateful that it smelled earthy rather than putrid.

  Even though the paths between places in the Dark River were usually safe, they were also a little frightening; sounds erupted in the dark on either side as you walked, reminders that all kinds of creatures waited in the obscure landscape. The last few minutes of their trek to Letra had quieted down considerably, making the place seem lifeless.

  As they crested over a short hill, the first of the stone figures appeared, frozen against the dim light of the distant storms, looking as though it had grown out of the ground.

  Derick felt discomfort. He’d been expecting statues, but not this. The figure was nude and its features were still precise and vivid. If it had turned to stone, it sure didn’t look like it. For a moment he thought the man might be a mannequin, but the genitalia disabused him of that idea.

  He looks alive, A said. And he’s in pain.

  The man’s features were contorted into a twisted moan, and it made Derick think of Munch’s Scream. Had the man’s hands been raised to his face, the similarity might have been complete. Derick didn’t know if A’s assessment was right, and the expression reflected pain, or if it was ecstasy. Maybe both, he thought. Maybe the pain of too much ecstasy.

  Derick reached out to the figure, pressing the pad of his index finger against the skin of the man’s arm. The light hairs on the arm resisted his touch, firm and rigid like hard, immovable wire, stopping his finger from making contact with the skin underneath. He raised his finger to the man’s cheek, where there was no hair; the skin was solid and unpliable, as though it had been filled with some substance that caused calcification.

  Hard as a rock, Derick said. Just as the man described.

  Look, A said, pointing to another dark figure rising from the ground not more than ten feet away. There are more of them.

  The ground dropped as they walked to the next statue, and in the distance hundreds of statues came into view, spread out in the valley in front of them, unmoving and silent in the faint light of the far-off firestorms.

  It’s so quiet, A observed.

  No wild creatures here, Derick replied. Something must keep them at bay.

  Except scorpionflies, A replied.

  Do you see any? Derick asked.

  A peered into the darkness, looking for movement between the figures. No, he replied, I don’t.

  Stay close, Derick said as he stepped down the incline, making his way into the valley of frozen beings.

  As they passed each statue, Derick couldn’t help but observe their faces. The last moments of their rushing experience were permanently written on each; some looked peaceful, with blissful expressions, while others looked as though they were in incredible agony. He half expected to hear a cry of anguish emerge from many of them, and it wasn’t hard to imagine the cry in his head.

  I can see why the creatures don’t come here, A said.

  Why? Derick asked.

  Don’t you feel it?

  Derick stopped walking. Feel what?

  The feeling of loss, A replied.

  Loss?

  Like I can’t control myself, A said, and Derick watched as A raised his hands to the side of his head, fulfilling the image of the Munch painting he’d first imagined when they arrived at the field.

  What is it? Derick asked, going down on one knee next to A.

  It’s scary, A said, holding his head. I feel like I might lose my mind. I feel like… He paused, his eyes looking at something next to them, a woman, her figure lying on the ground, her body twisted into an S shape. You can’t stop it, A said. You have to lose yourself in it. It’s not something you can control.

  A! Derick said, grabbing the kid by the shoulders. You’re not making any sense.

  It’s going to take me over, A said. I can’t stop it!

  Derick swept the child up in his arms and began to carry him out of the field, back the way they came. When he’d gone ten yards past the first statue they encountered, he set the boy down on the ground and allowed him to gain his bearings.

  How do you feel now? Derick asked.

  Better, A answered.

  What was going on back there?

  I felt lost.

  Lost?

  Like there was no point, A replied. Like I should just lie down and let whatever was going to happen to me, happen. Y
ou didn’t feel it?

  No, I felt nothing, Derick said. Are you going to be OK if I leave you here while I go back and collect the axto?

  I want to help you, A said.

  I know you do, but you can’t. Whatever emanates from those people, you can’t be around it. You won’t be able to help me. You’ve got to stay out here and wait for me, OK?

  Alright, A replied. I’ll wait.

  Promise me you won’t leave this spot.

  I won’t, A said. I’ll be right here.

  Good, Derick replied. I’ll be as quick as I can. I’ve got to find a dozen of them, so it might take some time. Don’t come in after me, and don’t leave here, got it?

  I won’t, A repeated.

  Alright, Derick said, still concerned with leaving A alone. Wish me luck.

  Luck, A replied.

  Derick turned and walked back to the figures, past the man at the edge and down into the field proper, looking over the silent, dark people, their features so alive-looking, their expressions disarming and frightening. He couldn’t shake the idea that they might somehow break free from their frozen state and attack him.

  The statues became denser the more he walked. He was scanning the empty spaces, looking for flying insects, but there was no movement. He couldn’t hear the slightest buzz of wings, and it began to worry him that perhaps the bugs were not out for some reason. Maybe they hibernate at times, he thought. Or they’re holed up somewhere for a sleep cycle.

  Then he stopped to take a closer look at the man next to him, and saw an odd bulge on his back, an apple-sized appendage attached to his skin. He looked closer, moving his glasslight into position, and the bright colors of the insect’s thorax came into view, vivid and startling. He could see the creature’s tail, turned down and into the surface of the man’s skin, the tip of its segmented abdomen deeply imbedded into the hard flesh.

  Its stinger is inside the statue, he thought. Use the snips to cut it off and eliminate the threat of being stung.

  He brought the scissor-like tool next to the creature, the faint light of his glasslight glinting off the sharp blade. As he passed one edge of the blade under its abdomen, readying to close the handle and bring the blades together, he saw the scorpionfly pull its stinger from the hard surface.